Through Fire & Smoke
by linalove
Summary: Because sometimes, someone has got to guide you through. Sands/OC. Set after the movie. Rating will change in the future.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome, welcome. Surprised to see me in this category again? Well, I surprised myself too. Okay, I won't say much. This story takes place a few months after the end of the film. I hope to make this quite different from my previous OUATIM story…Let's see if I can. If you read, please review. Helpful comments are always welcome and needed. **

**Oh and I don't need to mention that this will be Sands/OC… Right? Well, let's see how I can get to that…;o)**

**On with the story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time In Mexico. I only own my OCs.**

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**Through fire & Smoke**

**Chapter 1**

_**If I've done wrong, I'm dying for it.**_

_**~Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte**_

_**Culiacán**__**, Mexico**_

"Lo siento, señor!" The exclamation is followed by the wet splash of liquid falling on the pavement _and_ on his damn shoes.

_Fan-fucking-tastic._

"Lo siento mucho." Some rustling, a subtle curse and then…

There is a click of a tongue and a soft feminine hand is trying to wipe away the beer that has fallen all over his jacket sleeve. He can feel the damn thing dripping down his fingers and he can smell the flowery scent of…wipes?

Snatching his hand back, he takes a step backwards and forces a tight smile upon his lips.

"Si, si." The reply is emphasized by the jerky shake of his hand. He can feel the sticky drops of the beer adding further damage upon his clothes. Moving to the side and out of the woman's range- really, how difficult is it to detect a blind man when you see him with his trusty cane? - he clanks his long handled umbrella-no, it's not raining- and moves forward. The woman is very obviously still in his way and his arm clashes against hers as he makes his way down the street. He locates the trash bin with the tip of his helpful umbrella and throws the half empty bottle of beer inside, not caring when the glass hits the bare bottom and breaks into pieces.

He can hear the footsteps resume behind him and he allows himself a little smirk when he realizes that for once a little lady did not offer assistance. Good.

Moving forward, he makes his way into the front porch of the house. His nose immediately wrinkles as the smell of roses tantalizes his nostrils. Last night's rain must have brought out the smell he usually missed. He tries to cock an eyebrow, but immediately curses when he realizes how painful it still is. Adjusting his glasses upon his nose, he slams the iron door shut, obviously not in the mood for any visitors. Not that anyone would come. Oh no, no.

He outstretches his hand and the umbrella finds the plant. He pauses next to the thorny flowers and leans slightly closer. Groaning, he shakes the plant, but with not enough force to actually break anything. Sure, a few petals are surely ruffled, but…

"Warned you, Lupita. Nothing flowery." He curls his lip and removes the umbrella from the plant before he turns his head slightly to the left. He can hear moving around in his house. Thrusting a hand into the pocket of his pants, he takes out his key and tries to locate the lock. When he has succeeded with minimal effort, he pushes the door open. The smell of the house is the same, only now there is the distinctive smell of food in the air. Slamming the door shut when he hears the familiar sounds of heavy breathing, he thrusts the umbrella aside, not caring where it lands even though he knows that he will regret it later, and moves forward.

"How many times have I told you not to let the dog in, kid?" He calls and then footfalls echo in his well trained ears.

"Si, señor." The kid's voice is too cheery for him at the moment and Sands stifles an irritable growl.

"Take it out. Now." He points a finger towards the kid's general direction and Andres whistles. The large white Labrador follows like a puppy, pun intended, and hops towards the kid's direction, but not before giving Sands' shoes a good lick.

"I only hope you don't get drunk, mutt." He mutters and the dog gives an accompanied bark before it scampers off with the boy.

Sighing, but not in the mood to complain further, Sands moves steadily into the house, discarding jacket and shoes as he does so. He throws the jacket onto the floor and feels around for a cloth. The kitchen is right next to the small hall. Wiping his hands, he feels around for the chair and smirks when he finds it already pulled back and waiting for him.

He reaches into the back pocket of his pants and pauses when his fingertips encounter his smokes. With a small curse he pulls them out, already missing his rolled cigarettes, and finds his lighter. He lights one up and places it between his lips while waiting for the kid to return. Reaching out, following the smell really, his fingers brush over the warm, covered plate. He smirks a little and can't help but chuckle.

"I guess you're off the hook, Gran Madre." He mutters, not that he intends _not_ to bitch about the fucking roses in _his_ fucking garden. He abandons the plate and focuses on his cigarette. Slowly, the nicotine works its way into his system and he can feel the pain behind the place where his eyes once were shrinking down into a dull throb. Knowing, it is the time for his dose of painkillers, he waits for the boy to return. When he does, he is quick to bark out the order. Hey, he is paying for it anyway.

"Pills."

He can hear the boy pausing and he waits for it.

"No hay píldoras después de una cerveza, señor."

He knows about the beer? Really?

Sands tries hard not to snap, "No shit, Sherlock." Okay that was unnecessary, but the kid doesn't understand the curse words anyway, "I didn't finish the damn bottle, kid. Now hand them over."

"Por qué?" Andres moves around for the pills and Sands for once feels gracious enough to start a conversation.

"Una señora loca." He mutters through the cigarette before he snorts. Crazy for sure. First caused the spill and then tried to wipe it away with wipes. Fucking wipes! On his jacket!

"Mujer torpe?" The kid presses two pills in Sands' eager palm.

Clumsy woman? You bet.

"Yes."

There is a giggle, a damn giggle, and Sands pauses, "What?"

Andres is quick to hand water too and Sands resists the urge to smirk at the kid's punctuality. He was right to keep him around. For five whole months he's proven rather reliable.

"Señorita Lucy. Elle vive cerca." The kid replies and Sands throws back the pills and washes them down with some water. She lives close by? Menace.

"You don't say. Keep her away from me." He warns and he can hear the kid's curiosity crunching on his damn ears.

"Por qué?"

_Why? Because. I don't like her. I don't like women. I can't stand women who are clumsy. I hate women who spill my own fucking beer on my jacket, like I can't stand women who drill parts of my anatomy out._

He doesn't say all that. He replies with a simple, "Toallitas floridos." _Flowery wipes._

The kid starts laughing again and for once Sands doesn't reprimand him. How long has it been since he has heard laughter? Pure, innocent laughter? Not that he has missed it. No, sir. Nope.

"Fork." He wiggles his fingertips impatiently, but he pauses when he hears two pair of footfalls, "If that is not your mother, then it's out of here." He warns and the kid hesitates.

"Pero, señor…Marcus conoce el camino alrededor de la casa…"

_Marcus knows the way around the house…Hit me where it hurts, kid._

Sands clears his throat and leans forward, "You insinuate that I don't, kid?" He taps the fork that is passed over to him against the old wooden table rhythmically, but the kid is not scared, he can feel it. He is just disappointed.

"No." The reply is laced with that tone of agitation that the boy often expresses when Sands is being difficult, but the agent doesn't care.

"Good. Now get him out before he pisses in my shoes." He waves Andres away with a flourish of his lethal fork before he pulls the plate of food closer.

"Si." There is a particularly resigned tone as Andres takes the dog out again.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

There is a flick of a switch and he pauses with his hand on the bottle of water. He closes the fridge and waits for it. If her heavy breathing is clue enough, she'll start…in just about…now.

"Estás loco?"

Crazy? Sure he is.

"Si." He uncorks the bottle and takes a sip, feeling his way around the room for the table where he has his smokes.

A hand, rough and warm, snatches them out of his grasp and he smirks.

"Y ahora qué?" he asks and he can hear her trying to formulate words.

_Seriously, what now?_

"Roses."

"Si?"

"Destroyed."

Sands snorts, "I am innocent. Check that big old mutt of yours."

"Marcus?" Her voice is laced with surprise.

"Si. You're late." He accuses. Don't ask how he can tell. He just can.

He listens as she walks towards him, "What?" He hates silences.

"No puedo."

"You can't what?"

"This. El bebé."

Sands pauses, "What about the baby, Lupita? Is she sick again? I swear I paid the kid this morning-…"

"Yo no te puedo ayudar mas."

_I cannot help you anymore…_

"Is that so?" He tries not to panic like a sissy at the news, "Who the hell is supposed to replace you then?"

"No lo se…"

"Who the fuck knows, Big Momma?" He moves forward, "What about the kid? You won't call him off too, will you?"

"No."

Pure relief floods him and he sags in a chair with little effort of locating it.

"It's fine." He mutters as he locates her hand and snatches back his smokes. He lights a cigarette and lifts his head towards the direction of the slightly older woman, "Really. Drop the face." He mutters with irritation because he just _knows_ how she must be looking at him. He can feel it vibrating off of her in waves; pity. He hates, no. He loathes pity looks.

"Te encontraremos otra persona." He hates the cheery tone in her voice. Find him someone else? Fucking hell. Is she for real?

Leaning closer because he just knows that she is hovering, he probes her rounded stomach with a single fingertip.

"Te olvidas de cómo su marido murió, cariño." He hates bringing up her very much dead husband, but he has to get his point though, "El cartel lo mataron hace cinco meses. Por lo tanto, no me digas que no es alguien en quien confiar."

_The cartel killed him five months ago, sweet. So, do not tell me there is anyone I can trust. _Great way to clarify his point of view…Right? Digging deep into other people's wounds. Oh well…He has his own to take care of too.

He can smell the scent of cooking herbs that is clinging on her and when she sighs, he knows that his words have gotten to her.

"When are you going to forget that?" Her English is broken, but it is an improvement from the first day he met her.

"When I am sure no one, and I mean no one, is looking for me." He clarifies firmly as he removes his finger from her very pregnant stomach. Her _hombre_ left her with, Andres, a two year old baby and with another one on the way. Just…peachy. No wonder she has died out…

_Is that pity? Drop it. What happens now? Think about that._

"Y la agencia?"

_The agency?_

"I'll be alright as long as they think me dead…"

"But you're not." Her tone is amused and he shrugs, jolting the ash from his cigarette on the floor.

"Mi Dios…" She clicks her tongue at his carelessness and he smirks.

"No God in here, precious. Scamper off now. I'll think of something." He dismisses her with ease, but he feels anything but secure. Who is going to make sure his clothes are clean and well matched? Well, stupid point since most of it it's black, but still. He has gotten too used to it all. Clean house, fresh clothes, food…proper switch flicked on for warm water…no fire because of a forgotten stove or frying pan, help with the baths... proper cleaning of his sockets.

Shit. He needs all those things. The kid is great help when he is not talking Sands' ears off, but he cannot be around all day.

His musings are cut off when he hears the distinctive noise of double footfalls.

"Oh shit. No. No." He shakes his head and abruptly stands up as the four-legged animal makes its way into the kitchen through the back door. Suddenly, he misses his guns.

Lupita's warm laughter is enough to make him snap, "Hey!"

"Marcus is here to stay." There are footsteps, human footsteps this time, and then a hand is on his cheek while a tail wraps itself around his left calf. He tenses up, but knows not to move back. The damn Labrador is a menace when trying to snuggle and the woman touching him is probably the only one allowed to go as far as to breathe close to him. Her fingers are warm, but roughened from hard housework. He knows that at least half of those bumpy marks are because of him. She's been too good to him while he…Ahem…Well, at least he tries not to be that big of a jerk. Most of the times he succeeds.

"El escucha las ordenes…en Español." Lupita pats his cheek without disturbing his sunglasses and she is smart enough not to linger much on his face.

"You don't say? Orders in Spanish? Gee, tricky." He huffs as he swats her hand away from the cigarette between his fingers. She sighs, but doesn't try to pluck it from his grasp again.

"You'll die from it." He can hear her moving around, gathering the used plate and glass and placing them in the sink.

"Trust me, Mama, I won't." The dark tone in his voice causes her to pause, but the she clears her throat and speaks.

"Andres will feed Marcus. You don't have worry." He almost, _almost_, makes a crude remark about the forgotten _to_ in that sentence, but he is too busy trying to dislodge the dog from his leg.

Marcus releases him suddenly and Sands is able to move freely again.

"Finally…" He plops down on his chair again and proceeds to settle his legs on the table.

Lupita's scolding is lost in him. He is too busy moping for his soon to be lost luxuries. Depending on others for every day activities like choosing the correct pill or making sure nothing gets on fire sucks. His _life_ sucks.

"Fuck…I'm not even a people person." He takes a last drag from his smoke and then finds the ashtray and takes it out, pressing on it with more force than necessary out of sheer agitation.

Lupita clears her throat, "Um…it's time." She announces and he freezes right where he is.

Fuck. He has forgotten what time it is. Groaning at that particular thought, he tries to procrastinate.

"I need more pills, Mama."

"No." He can swear he can hear shaking her head, "Sus ojos."

_Your eyes…_Shit.

"They're fine." He stands, ready to go, but he knows it is a lost cause when she starts trailing after him, huge belly and all.

"Fuck me backwards." He mutters as he sulkily maneuvers his body towards the bathroom without stumbling.

_Welcome to the freak show…Again. _

**End of chapter 1**

**Author's note: Still here? Thank you for reading. Liked it? If you found this even a little bit interesting then please, please drop me a few words. This is a little bit different for me so…**

**Next chapter will be up once I know that a few people are interested! Also, do you think we will see more of this Lucy lady from the beginning? Hmm?**

**Oh and please, forgive any mistakes in the Spanish sections. I know just a few words so I am relying on a translator at the moment…Lovely language though.**

**Also, Andres is the boy from the film. Just so there is no confusion.**

**Comments feed the muse!**

**Until next time. :D**

***Translations: Lo ****siento****= I am sorry.**

**Lo ****siento**** mucho: I am so sorry**

**Gran ****madre****= Big Mother***

**Xxx Lina :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello and welcome back! First of all I would like to take a moment to thank you, readers and reviewers. I didn't expect such a response for this so, yeah…I am more than happy!**

**So, a shout out to my reviewers: BelleinWonderland, TinkerbellxO, XantheXV, Makrciana, MissMisc3, Leyshla Gisel, dionne dance, AqoCJeyBee, the misery chick, xoangelwingxo, green-as-elphaba and xBelekinax. Thank you for the encouraging words! I am glad to know the Spanish did not suck much…**

**On with the chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time In Mexico. Nope…**

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**Chapter 2**

'_**To be blind is not miserable; not to be able to bear blindness, that is miserable.'**_

_**~John Milton**_

_Turning onto his side isn't supposed be so painful. His breath is caught in his throat and he almost chokes on his own saliva as he tries to gulp down more air. There are hands restraining him, strong hands pushing him down against the thin mattress and he jerks under the smothering hold. _

_Barillo._

_A hand is upon his face, holding his chin and he can feel the glasses being snatched away from him, leaving him bare to the world. His muscles spasm with the effort to get away and he can feel his spine arching into an odd angle in an effort to buck away from the touch. His face is hurting, his empty eye sockets are burning and he can feel hot, sticky blood running down his cheeks to his neck. The blood reaches his nostrils the more he writhes and he starts choking more from the pain than the actual blood that is clogging his nose. A pair of hands is suddenly cupping his face and the fingers leave his brow. He tries to breathe and at the same time he wants to free himself of the hands that are holding his face. He cannot stand any more pain. He cannot stand the touch. It's done. What more can they possibly do to him?_

"_Señor." _

_He hears the voice and at first he doesn't understand that it's a female speaking to him, crooning to him._

_His next words are out of his mouth without much censure, "Kill me. Fuck's sake, kill me."_

_The hands pause and he can sense hesitation. "No." His right cheek is freed from the small, but roughened hand and then he can feel something moist and soft brushing against his cheek. He pauses and for the first time he uses his nose to help himself realize what is going on. His nostrils catch the smell of antiseptic and he gulps, his throat as harsh as sandpaper. The wet cotton is brushing dangerously close to his eyelid and he inhales sharply. Acting on self defense, he slaps the hand away and starts groping around for something, anything to hold onto. The pain is too much and it's clouding his senses, blocking his brain and when the cotton returns, he lets out a loud groan of agony._

"_Señor. Señor, por favor, espere. Andres." _

"_Si, mama. Señor, __wait." _

_He knows that young voice, but that doesn't stop him from crying out in pain when the antiseptic travels dangerously close to his eye socket. He grits his teeth against the pain, but it is pointless. Fuck, he could lose half his teeth from grinding them so hard together, but he doesn't care. His fingers claw at the mattress under him and he can feel his face erupting in flames when the cotton finally makes proper contact with his socket. He screams and his body flies upwards, reflexively trying to escape the scorching pain._

"_Andres." The female voice again and suddenly the antiseptic and cotton is gone only to be replaced with something cool and soft. _

_He swallows hard, his breath leaving him in harsh puffs of air, his chest heaving with the effort, but he takes comfort in the fact that the stinging concoction is gone from his torn skin._

_A small hand is gently shaking his arm, but he can barely move. His arm and legs are killing him and when two pills are pushed into his mouth he swallows them dryly and flops back down on the thin pillow under his head. The cool cloth over his eyes is slowing his rapid heartbeat and he can feel his muscles uncoiling until he is sprawled upon the mattress in an inelegant heap of bloodied limbs._

"_Señor." _

_The boyish voice again. Sands brow curves slightly, but he groans out loud when the movement earns him a sharp jolt of pain behind his skull._

"_Kid?"_

"_Si." _

_That reply is all he needs and before he knows it he is unconscious again._

Something sticky, wet and cool is brushing insistently against his palm. His fingers twitch and slowly he is pulled out of sleep's realm.

_Thank God for small favors._

Slightly raising his face, he tries to hear for any sounds. The only thing he gets is the chirping of birds outside his window and the heavy breathing of the enormous, and most importantly fat, Labrador that is currently slouching next to him with his tongue slobbering all over his fucking hand. The dog is on his bed; upon his fucking bed and is most certainly drooling all over his damn sheets as well. Gritting his teeth he snatches his hand back, regretting it when the dog snuggles closer and slaps his heavy tail upon his leg.

"Marcus, you have two seconds to get out of this bed. _Fuera_. " Sands' words are barely composed, but the Labrador is obviously not that bothered.

The clock is ticking and when the dog doesn't move, Sands grabs hold of the sheets and starts shaking them.

Marcus let's out a sharp bark in complaint and hauls his ass off the bed.

"Spanish orders my ass, Lupita…Dog hair." The agent curls his lip in disgust before he runs a hand over his face, careful of the bandage around his eyes.

"Peachy." He drops his hand from his face and tilts his head to the side, wondering what the time is.

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he stands up barefoot and clad only in his boxers. He gropes his way towards the bathroom and judging by the quietness he realizes that it is relatively very early in the morning. His head is throbbing slightly and he reckons that it's time for his morning painkiller.

"Damn memory." He mutters as he splashes his cheeks and neck with lukewarm tap water. He turns off the water and his fingers close around the small towel. It smells of something flowery again and sighs.

"Lupe." He mutters as he throws the towel aside and turns towards the door. He pulls on a pair of shorts long enough to cover his leg wounds and then proceeds to pull a shirt, which one he doesn't really care, over his head. He can hear Marcus padding near by and groans.

"Beast." He accuses and Marcus barks enthusiastically in response, "Mad dog." Shaking his head, he reaches up and undoes the bandage. His healing sockets sting a bit when the cool air hits them and he winces before he finds his glasses on the nightstand. Putting them on, he slowly, because he is groggy, makes his way to the kitchen.

He allows his hands to grope around the fridge for some juice because he is too damn lazy to bother with coffee. Besides, who the hell is supposed to clean up after he spills half of it all over the kitchen? The kid is not supposed to be here for at least three hours. He also doesn't bother with a glass and merely plops down in the closest chair. He uncorks the juice and takes a sip straight from the carton.

He savors the bittersweet taste of the orange and reaches across the table for his spare pack of smokes.

Marcus is quick to join him and Sands listens as the dog situates himself close to his chair. Turning his head towards the general direction of the Labrador he smirks evilly.

"You do know what happens to dogs that are not wanted, right? Euthanasia." He lights a cigarette and the small huff that comes from Marcus is enough to make him click his tongue.

"Fine. That's for sick dogs, but hey. I never said I cannot _make_ you sick, right?"

Marcus' answering bark is loud and Sands raises a hand, "Now what was that? Was that an ironic _please_, mutt?"

Marcus barks again and Sands gets the distinct suspicion that the dog is mocking him.

"I will ignore that and admit defeat. Just because I do not have my guns." He pauses at that, "Which reminds me. I must threaten your mistress to give them back." He takes a drag from his cigarette and allows the smoke out in a slow exhalation.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The front door slams closed and Sands raises his head from the table.

"Kid?"

"Si."

Groaning he points an accusatory finger at Marcus, "Call him off my shoes. Now. He's been at it for the past hour or so."

Andres hesitates and then speaks, "He is not doing anything."

Sands pauses, "Then what is that sound?"

Andres giggles and Sands would have rolled his eyes if he had any.

"He is sleeping…Um, Ronquidos."

"Snores? Fucking snores?" He reaches for another cigarette, "Fucking hell." He lights one and then turns his head towards Andres, "Where's your mother, kid?"

"Cooking."

"Hmm. Do you mind calling her for me?" he asks and the kid hesitates.

"She said not to bother her because she already knows what you want." Andres places something heavy on the table in front of him.

"Does she now? Wonderful…What's that?" His fingers brush over the book cover and he sighs, "Not now, kid."

"Mama said you have nothing better to do."

Sands snorts, "Of course she said that."

"Will you help?" The boy sounds too cheery for Sands' head, but he can't find it in him to deny such a simple thing. The kid only needs supervision while doing his English reading practice.

_Going soft?_

Sighing, he pushes the book towards Andres and the boy eagerly takes a seat next to him.

"Fine. Just an hour."

"Si, Señor."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"I find no purpose in this." Sands collapses in the chair as the kid calls for Marcus.

"Nice day, Señor!"

"Si, si. Get me a beer, kid."

Andres is all too happy to oblige since he got his way with the reading session and Sands leans back in the chair and stretches his legs, ignoring as the skin around the bullet wounds stretches painfully. Marcus comes and rearranges himself just by Sands' feet and the agent can't help commenting again.

"Who told you I like you anyway, mutt? Am I giving mixed signals here?"

Marcus wiggles his tail loudly against the porch floor and then nudges Sands' hand with his muzzle. Between his jaws is Sands' pack of smokes.

"Are you buttering me up for something?" Sands takes the cigarettes while maintaining a casual face, "Fine. You're smart. So what? I am too and look what happened to me."

Marcus sits back down and Sands places the pack on the small table. He hates being outside in the open. He feels…bare. Defenseless. Vulnerable; handicapped. And he hates feeling like that. He should be armed, not wandering the porch unarmed.

Andres returns with the beer and quickly scampers off to get Sands' food from his house.

Sands listens to the kid's retreating footsteps, beer close to his lips and when the iron door closes shut he takes a sip. The street is quiet, but not for long.

"Lo siento."

Someone is stumbling over and the screeching sound of a bike echoes in the afternoon's air.

Sands nearly chokes on his beer.

"Está bien, señorita Lucy."

The kid sounds enthusiastic and Sands wonders what's so special about that clumsy, annoying lady who seems to be stumbling on people as often as she is breathing.

"Probably her tits." Sands allows a salacious little smirk to appear on his lips as the woman's footsteps continue down the pavement.

When the kid returns with the plate of warm rice and chicken, Sands is quick to start the interrogation.

"Hey, kid."

"Si."

"That woman, who is she?"

Andres pauses, "Her name's Lucy Palmer, Señor."

"And?" Sands waves his hand impatiently.

"She is nice."

"Can you expand on that, kid?" He starts tapping his foot as the kid takes a deep breath and starts blurting things out like a stream.

"Senorita Lucy has been helping mama." Andres starts and Sands tugs on the hat upon his head so it's covering part of his sunglasses.

"That so?" he murmurs as he reaches for the food, "How so?"

"She's been looking after Alma while mama was looking after you."

Sands pauses with the bite of chicken halfway to his mouth, "What?"

"Si."

He drops the fork, "For how long?"

Andres ponders over it and tries to translate his thoughts in English, "Since the Dia De Los Muertos."

"Oh, shit." Sands mutters.

_That means you owe her more than you think. Big Mama, I mean. Not the chick with the clumsy tendency for destruction._

"What else do you know about that lady, kid?"

"Not much, Señor…But she is very pretty. Her Spanish is a bit odd, but she is very nice. She brought Alma and me presents." The grin is audible in the kid's voice and Sands allows himself a moment of silliness.

"Pretty, huh? Let me guess…She is blonde." He smirks and the boy immediately replies.

"Si."

"That's why she's so stupid."

"Señor!"

"What?" He starts chuckling evilly.

"She was looking at your hat." Andres' words cut Sands' laughter off.

"What?"

"Si. She was looking at your hat."

Sands' hand flies to his hat and he pauses, "Which one is it, kid?"

Andres giggles again, "El rojo."

"The red one? Fucking shit, kid! Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" He snatches the hat from his head before he runs a hand through his shoulder length hair.

"Fuck."

Last thing he needs is to attract attention, unwanted attention, with a red hat with plant imprints on it.

He pushes the hat inside his shorts pocket and reaches for the food again, easily locating the fork.

"What can I say, kid? Chicks dig me." He pushes a mouthful of rice past his lips and chews on it while Andres tries to understand the full meaning of the words.

"Chicks?"

Sands pauses, "Si. Women, ladies, broads, you know. Niñas."

Andres nods, but Sands doesn't really care for a reply. He simply carries on with his eating while pretending not to care that soon he'll be left to his own devices with no Big Mama to help him out.

_Fucking wonderful._

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Sands?"

"Your television has _nothing_ on." He informs Lupita as soon as she is inside.

"Um."

"There is no radio in the house either. I paid without knowing all these inadequacies."

Lupita sighs, "Sheldon."

He hates the way she pronounces it and he wishes he had never told her his full name.

"I want my guns." He announces loudly and clearly and Lupita gasps.

"Why?"

He drops the remote and crosses his arms over his chest, "Because, chica, in a couple of days you will stop carrying that huge belly around and I will be left on my onesies. Kid aside and all."

"Not reason enough-…"

"Listen, doll, it might have escaped your notice, but you don't _know_ me. Now, either you give me my playthings or…" he trails off and his inner voice mocks him.

_Yeah, what are you going to threaten her with? _

_Shut up. _

"You won't be lonely. I have found the perfect um…sustitución." She exclaims and Sands grits his teeth.

"I never said lonely. I said alone, Lupe. And what do you mean replacement?"

There is some movement around and then suddenly the television blares with loud noise.

"Huh." He murmurs, "Not plugged in, eh?"

Lupita sighs, but grabs the remote and turns down the volume. "Si. Replacement."

"Let me guess; you found someone with extreme amounts of patience and understanding for an unbalanced fucker like myself in…what? Two days?"

"Si."

He tries not bristle. _Hey, you are unbalanced_.

_Not the point._

"Fine. Who is it?" he tries to keep his wits about and not start shooting imaginary bullets towards her direction.

"That's a secret." Lupita informs him as she starts gathering discarded clothes.

Sands slumps back against the couch, "I don't do secrets, Big Mama. Spill."

"Spill?"

Sands turns his head towards her, "Si. Spill. Talk."

"No."

"It's not a guy, is it?" He is pretty sure he cannot stand the presence of a proper, fully functional man at the moment…

_Make that _**ever**_._

"No."

"Is _she_ from Mexico then?" he asks with irritation and Lupita hums in response.

"Is she old?"

"Um…no."

"You're not giving me much to work with here, sugar." He takes the glass of water and vitamin that is handed to him and swallows the pill and the water in one go.

"I have arranged proper meeting for her tomorrow."

That doesn't sit very well with Sands.

"Tomorrow? So fucking soon?"

"Si."

"Fantastic."

"The sooner the better."

"Oh, right. For you." He snorts and then…

"I am getting too heavy." Lupita's voice is resigned and Sands tries hard not to feel guilty. He tries, but fails.

Sighing, he pats the space next to him. The woman sits down and he can feel her swollen stomach brushing against his arm.

"Fine…I need that old-no, _ancient_- cell phone you keep around in your house." He tells her and she pauses.

"Why?"

"For my own personal reasons…Oh, and I need my badge back." He pauses, "The one I gave you to hide in your house in case anyone found me here."

Lupita is silent.

"Mi identificación." He clarifies just to be on the safe side.

"Si. I understand."

"Then why are you not speaking?" he growls with impatience, "I cannot see you, Big Mama. Nods and shrugs are lost to me."

"I know. Guns are dangerous."

Sands stops and tries to come up with some caustic, but suddenly he changes his mind.

"Si. They are also needed to a guy like me."

"I'll give you one back."

"_No_. How about all of them?"

"No. The large one."

Sands starts laughing, "Whoever said that size matters lied big time. It's all about the art of it."

"Que?"

"Nothing." He waves a hand away, "Fine. Give me one then. I have nowhere to stash them here anyway. Damn closet's too small for my wardrobe anyway. Listen," he turns towards her and starts making designs with his fingers, "Bring me…There is a case around this size." He makes a distance around ten inches with his hands, "Bring it to me along with the phone. Savvy?"

"Si."

"Good. Tonight." He pokes her belly with his fingertip and smirks when she laughs.

"Si."

"Swell. Oh and, doll?"

"Si?"

"Don't be a stranger when this baby is out of you, eh? I really want to know how the kid will turn out…"

_Definitely a psycho since it's been around you for so long… _

_Funny._

"Si." A pair of arms is around his shoulders and he tries, really tries, not to flinch.

"Oh and, Big Mama?"

"Si?"

"Don't say _si_ again."

Lupita just laughs.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It's too damn early for someone to be at the door. He can sense it. Sands has the very prominent urge to bury his face into his pillow, but he can't. His face starts aching the moment he tries to smother his groan against his pillow.

The knocks continue, there is no bell on the door, and he growls.

"The fuck?" His hand firmly pats Marcus' hairy back, "Marcus, go and chop into pieces whoever it is. That's a good lad." He smirks when the Labrador hops off the bed and thunders down the corridor. The knocking continues and Sands sits slightly up on the bed when he hears no ominous barking coming from his unlikely pet.

"Marcus?" he calls and the dog is quick to rush back to him. The animal starts tugging on the bedcovers and Sands is suddenly reminded why he hates pets.

"Stop it." He warns, _"Alto."_ Marcus releases the covers and Sands smirks, ready to lie back down when another round of knocking begins.

"Fuck's sake!" He throws the sheets away and slowly stands. He feels his legs protesting at the sudden movement and he forgets the bandage around his face because well, who else besides the kid can it be? Right?

_The kid has a key._

_The kid can be forgetful. Besides, Marcus seems delighted. It must be the kid._

He finds his way to the door and pauses.

"Si?" he forces his voice into a heavy drawl and there is hesitation from the other end.

"Um…Buenos días."

Sands frowns, his brain still groggy, but opens the door nonetheless.

"Que?"

"Um…Lucy Palmer." The voice is steady and loud and…familiar.

If he had eyes they would be as wide as saucers. The woman to replace Lupita is…here? And it's the fucking clumsy, annoying little chica from the street?

Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. He forgot it was today. He is not ready for her. Fuck. Fuck it, fuck.

He puts on his most charming smile and pushes his body behind the door.

"Si…si. Eh…" He realizes he has the fucking bandage around his eyes. He doesn't even know how much Lupe has told the little chit. Too much provided info before he can ever get to know who the fuck the señorita really is.

"Um, un momento." He tries to close the door on her face so he can bloody prepare himself, but she surprises him when she speaks.

"I can speak English." Her accent is much smoother now and Sands pauses for a moment. American? Or British? Australian?

Fuck. He needs to make that call.

"Great. Then you can fucking hold it for a moment. Savvy?" He slams the door shut and waits, wondering if she'll leave or if she's desperate enough for a paycheck. Yep, she is desperate enough and he releases a quick breath.

Pushing away from the door, he heads for the bedroom, ordering Marcus to stay put and for once the mutt doesn't put up much of a fight.

He pulls on a shirt and a pair of slacks before he removes his sleeping bandage from his eyes. He pushes on his Ray Bans and swiftly finds Lupita's ancient cell phone. It's an old Nokia, but he starts dialing nonetheless. It's probably the only number he knows by heart.

He waits patiently and wonders if he should have let Miss Lucy in…Hmm.

"_Hello?"_

He smirks a little, "Hey there, Barbara."

There is dead silence and then a loud curse.

"_Is this a fucking joke? Sands?"_

He winces, his eardrum protesting at the woman's loud voice, "I never had a great sense of humor, Babe."

"_Where are you? I thought you were dead-…"_

"And I shall remain that way until I decide it's time to make my great return."

"_What?"_

"I know that as a district attorney they're not paying you well, but can you calm the fuck down and listen?"

There is a pause and then a sigh. He is winning.

"_Just tell me this. Are you alright?" _There is noise from her side of the line. She must be in the subway or something.

He purses his lips and smirks when Senorita Lucy starts knocking again.

"No." He deadpans and Barbara's agitation is palpable even through the phone line.

"_What do you want and what makes you think I'll give it to you?"_

He chuckles and reaches for a cigarette, "You owe me. It's a small favor really." He lights the cigarette and he can literally _hear_ her anger.

"_What kind of favor?"_ She is bristling.

"I want you to run a check over someone. I am sure you still have connections with the feds, right?"

There is a dead silence and then some rustling.

"Still there?" he asks impatiently, not really in the mood to beg for a fucking check up.

"_Yes. You know, I always wondered when you'd come back asking for favors."_ Her response is not unexpected and he doesn't blame her. Mrs. Barbara Abbot is a wild number. Yep. _Mrs_. Abbot. Married to an FBI agent and yet desperate enough to spread her legs for the most fucked up CIA agent in the history of the country…and not just once.

"Yes, yes. Will you do it?"

"_Why the haste?"_

"I am not playing here, Barbie. It's either a yes or a no."

"_Why not contact your agency? They have better intelligence there."_ Her tone is mocking, but he is no mood for that.

"Will you do it? For old time's sake?"

He can hear her heels clanking on the pavement and he can imagine her strawberry blonde hair flowing with the wind as she walks. She always wears it down. Fuck. Last thing he needs is to get a boner for a slightly deranged, but _very_ fine chick. He can work with deranged. That's why the sex was so good. That's why he can trust her…At least he thinks he can.

_You trust her. That's why you called. Your little hook ups were a secret. No one knows. She is safe because she can't talk. That's why you only remember her number by heart._

_Shut up._

Suddenly he remembers the clumsy number waiting outside and growls.

"I want an answer, Barbie."

"_Well, at least you still remember your pet name for me…Fine. Name."_

"Lucy Palmer. Mexico."

"_You got it. How do I get back to you?"_

"Hit this number and you're good."

He doesn't wait for a reply. He ends the call and thrusts the phone in the back pocket of his slacks.

Grabbing the half burned cigarette from between his lips, he heads for the door and opens it. As soon as he has the door open Señorita Lucy steps in, her movements quiet and measured. He can hear no sound and she is probably wearing flats. Before he can even properly shut the door he can hear the telltale thudding on the floor; Marcus' upcoming approach. Sands can only stand still, listening with his mouth agape as the huge Lab tackles Clumsy Lady to the ground and starts drooling all over her. He waits for the loud screeching, because what kind of woman allows a huge fat pup to slobber all over her, but it never comes. Instead, the only thing that reaches his ears is calm, quiet cooing.

_Slap my ass, fuck me sideways and call me Judy. _

"Well, welcome to Mexico." He announces as he slams the door shut and walks ahead of the rolling couple.

**End of chapter 2**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading. Liked it? Hated it? Please, let me know. This is really fun to write and I couldn't help it. Half of it was sitting in my hard drive and since I won't be able to update any of my stories till the weekend, I thought I'd give you this.**

**Comments are welcome-no, needed!**

**By the way, what do you think of the Barbie lady? More Lucy in the next chapter. Oh and what did you think of the flashback? That is from the very first time Sands met Lupita.**

**So, yeah...Ahem.**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :D**

***Translations: **

**Fuera= outside**

**Señor, por favor, espere= Sir, please wait**

**Esta bien, señorita Lucy= It's alright, Miss Lucy**

**Mi identificacion= my identification**

**Alto= stop**

**Bue****nos días****= Good morning***


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Welcome back. A huge thank you to:**

**XantheXV, Makrciana, Missmisc3, dionne dance, justsukiya, xBelekinax, TinkerbellxO, Leyshla Gisel, deppfan11 and xoangelwingxo. You are wonderful!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once upon A Time In Mexico.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

'_**The truest way to be deceived is to think oneself more knowing than others.'**_

_**~Francois de La Rochefoucault **_

_The chick is demented. Yep. It's been like…what? Half an hour? I am getting bored. Scratch that, I am getting impatient. How is it possible for anyone to have such…patience?_

He tries not to show his irritation because he wants to know how long she'll last.

_It's a test. Will she pass it? A boring test, but it will say a lot about the Clumsy Number here._

Even Marcus is bored of the uncomfortable silence and decides to move. Sands can hear him moving and when his tail brushes his leg he knows where the mutt is going.

He can hear soft breathing and then the distinctive sound of the dog's tiny bell. Clumsy Number is petting Marcus like she is getting paid for it. He is that certain. He tilts his head to the side and listens. Nothing. No word.

_She is good. I am not a talkative person, but damn. She's a chick. Don't they all love to talk? _

He shifts upon the chair and he can feel the handgun Big Mama gave him digging into his lower back as it sits snugly in the waistband of his slacks. He allows a crooked smirk, fully aware of the fact that he's most probably freaking the Clumsy Number out. Fuck, it feels great to have a gun filled with ammo on your person. He could start dancing around like that stupid Snoopy dog, but he simply basks in the security that the cold object provides.

His smirk deepens when he hears the polite clearing of Miss Lucy's throat. She has also stopped petting Marcus because the dog finds his way next to Sands' chair again. Moving as quietly as a cat, Sands reaches for his smokes. It's the third one he's smoked in her presence and besides her elegant coughing sessions she hasn't commented on it. He lights up the cigarette and then leans back again.

"You know where the closest convenient store is, chica?" He finally breaks the dead silence and he can swear that the woman is crazy.

"Yes. Next block. You've run out of cigarettes." Her reply is smooth and confident and Sands doesn't like it. She just spent half an hour with a guy; a guy who hasn't spoken at all. She spent half an hour in absolute creepy silence and she remains composed?

Ignoring her words, he passes onto his next question, "How long have you been living in Mexico, Ms. Palmer?"

There is hesitation and he can hear the snap of something elastic. The sound of metal clanking together-bracelet or a watch- tells him that Clumsy Number is tucking her hair into a ponytail. Lupita does that all the time when she's tidying after his mess.

A wave of something flowery tickles his nostrils, but he cannot place it. Hell, he's never been good with flowers.

"A few years." Her reply is short and clipped.

Sands pushes his glasses farther up his nose, "Can you be a little more specific?"

"I will if you do the same. Why are you here?"

Sands smirks, "Touché, chica."

"Wearing sunglasses all the time will cause more headaches. Especially if they push up against certain nerves-…"

Okay, that is random…or…

"Let's take it one at a time, shall we, señorita?" He cuts her off and he is not sure if the cutting edge to his tone is palpable enough for her stupidity.

Silence is the only reply he gets.

"So?"

"So what?"

"How long have you been in Mexico?" He is not that interested. He knows that everything he wishes to know will be in that check up. He only hopes Barbie actually decides to do the check in the first place. He just wants to see how many lies she will fill him with. Suspicious much? Oh yeah, he is.

"Five years." Lucy's voice is steady when she replies and he moves on to his other question.

"What do you do?"

Another moment of silence, "At the moment, when I am not looking after Alma, I help at the local clinic."

Sands pauses at that. That is why Lupita wanted her as replacement. Clever.

"You're a doctor?"

"No."

"Nurse?"

"No."

"You cook for the patients?"

"No."

"Then what the fuck are you doing in a clinic? Oh, let me guess. You clean." He smirks cruelly, but he gets no expected reaction. Actually, he gets nothing and it bothers him.

"Still here?"

"You'd hear me if I were to leave, right?" Her response is not meant to hurt, but damn. Even so, he prefers mockery to fucking sympathy. He shudders with disgust at the mere thought. He doesn't want to be coddled. He wants practicality. Only Lupita is allowed to coddle him because well…Yeah. Let's leave it at that.

Also, it is disgruntling to know that Clumsy Number knows about his blindness. Well, the bandage earlier was probably a giveaway, but still…She sounds as if she knows more…

_Of course she knows more. Lupe most definitely told her everything. Why else would you need a fucking caretaker?_

"You bet, chica." He takes a drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke towards her direction on purpose. She doesn't make a sound and he is seriously doubting the woman's wits.

"So, you give kids lollies in that clinic? Do they even _pay_ you?"

"No, they don't…I mean sometimes…Mostly… I do volunteer work." Her reply is calm and straight to the point.

"Mother Teresa?" He snorts, but his amusement is not appreciated because her next comment is scathing.

"You should come and take a walk in the ER. You know how many kids are still in there since the Day of the Dead?"

Her reply shuts him up, but also causes his anger to flare. What does _she_ know?

"Oh, I am fairly aware of the aftermath of that coup. The question is why you are bringing _that_ up."

Lucy doesn't hesitate, "Lupe told me you were hurt that day. It's why you can't see, yes? I was out that day. They saved my left arm in that clinic. I owe them. Haven't you ever felt such a thing?"

Sands is bristling, "What thing?"

"The feeling that you owe someone."

"Is that a trick question? What happens if I fail to reply in the way you want, chica?"

"You can take it as rhetorical one."

"Then I shall. So, apart from your feeling of owing them, what do you do?"

There is a short pause and then, "I'm a masseuse."

He freezes with the cigarette between his lips as he drops his hand, "What?"

"Physical therapy. I studied in Toronto, but I never got to finish the program."

Sands is surprised, "Uh huh. Daddy stopped paying for his cheerleader daughter?"

"I was never a cheerleader. My father died when I was six." Her reply is laced with a thin layer of ice and Sands is surprised further.

"Kay. Here's the deal, chica-…"

"It's Lucy…Or Ms. Palmer." She cuts him off sharply and Sands licks his lips slowly. She has a way of enunciating her name; like she's announcing the news or something. Odd.

"Since Lupita was kind enough to inform you of my _situation_, there is not much to say is there?"

"It wasn't hard to guess."

_Ouch._ That hurt. It's that obvious that he doesn't have his fucking eyes?

"You shoot straight from the hip." He comments and then sneers, "As fate would have it so do I. So, if you're always as clumsy and stupid as that day in the street then you can pack up and scram."

Silence. He grins deeply and decides to get straight to the point, "This is a blind man's house. Nothing is to be moved. Nothing is to be disturbed. The job is easy enough. You just need to keep this house running, pay the bills- because how the fuck am I supposed to do that- keep me clean and neat and generally stay out of my way. I also appreciate a certain level of privacy. That means you stay off my case. Savvy?"

"How many hours a day?"

Sands whistles, "You're quick on the uptake, sugar. You had me fooled."

"I am awkward around…people." She starts and he cocks his head to the side.

"Is that so?" He is not really interested. Fuck, he couldn't care less. He doesn't like people much and if he does like them he doesn't stay around too much to really find out.

"Yes. I'm sorry for the spill."

He waves a hand, "I see you're not one for questions. Tell me, are you going to leave without even asking my name? This is fucking Mexico, chica. Bad men around."

_Not that I am going to give you my actual fucking name-…Wait. Lupe didn't rat that one out too, did she?_

Clumsy Number doesn't reply immediately and he snorts.

_Sure she did. She trusts too easily. Fucking hell, Big Mama._

He raises his hands up in surrender, "I won't even ask. Are you married?"

"No."

"Good. That means you're satisfied with-…"

"I am not living alone."

Sands pauses. What the fuck does that mean?

"Meaning?"

"I am not living alone."

"I heard that."

"What time do I need to be here?"

Sands wants to snap something crude at her because he hates unanswered questions, but he doesn't. No until he has full knowledge of this senorita.

"Eight."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Then he smirks, "How do you feel about open wounds?"

Lucy is silent for a moment, "I'm familiar with blood if that's what you're asking."

"It is not. I am not talking about blood. I am talking about wounds. Holes."

"It's eleven forty five. Lupe told me about your headaches. I should get another pill for you, right?" He listens as she stands up and he is too fucking shocked to speak.

"Unless I am not getting the job." She tries to move past him, but he grabs her wrist. It's so thin he is surprised it's not broken from his hold. The skin around the bone is soft, but he doesn't really care to actually take notice.

Lucy stops moving, but doesn't fight to get free.

"You know someone drilled my eyes out. _Fine_. Don't play the smartass with me, chica. I am serious."

"Do I have the job?" There is fierce determination in her voice and Sands is once again puzzled.

"What would you do if I told you no?" Because he has the urge to throw her out. And _damn_. There is that smell again. Has she been swimming in a tub of fabric softener?

"Probably nothing."

He smirks, "I thought you were desperate."

"I never said I am not."

"Do you have an illegitimate kid, chica? Is that why Alma's been a good sport for you?"

"This is Mexico. I imagine you don't drink this water, do you?" She tugs her wrist free, but his reflexes are quick and he grasps her elbow.

The chick is…random.

There is a barely audible gasp and he relishes in the feeling of power. Clumsy Number _is_ a little bit afraid of him. Cool.

"I don't clean my sockets with it either, but that's beside the point."

"What is the point?"

Sands purses his lips, "You're very thin. I imagine you can't even cook a proper egg."

"I can if I can have the ingredients to cook."

Sands doesn't want to get too much behind the meaning of these words. Clumsy Lady is poor. He got that alright. Lupe couldn't feed her kids before he came along.

_Jeez, I am turning into fucking mother Teresa. I don't even like cross-dressing…Well, maybe a little and with the right broad…_

"Your dog seems hungry too."

"It's not my dog."

"Looks like it is." Lucy removes her elbow from his grasp, "He's been looking ready to pounce since the moment I started towering over you." She leaves him with that as she makes her way into the kitchen and Sands doesn't like the image of anyone _towering_ over him.

Standing up, he barks after her, "You're American, right?"

"Hmm."

"Which part?"

Marcus' tail brushes against his leg, but he doesn't reprimand the dog. "Florida."

Sands' opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it. Reaching for the last cigarette in his pack, he plops his ass in a chair and lights it. The nicotine is enough to drive some of the agitation away, but he doesn't feel too well with the situation. Clumsy Number should _not_ feel welcome enough to wander in his fucking house so soon. Plus, she's a fucking know-it-all.

Standing up abruptly and startling Marcus, he heads for the kitchen, cigarette stuck between his lips.

He finds her near the fridge and seizes her hands, delighting in her little gasp of surprise. He grabs the bottle of water, the last one in the fridge, and snatches the pill from her palm.

"I can get my own fucking pill, _chica_. Why don't you get that fucking lunch started, eh? Plenty of ingredients here."

He turns on his heel and walks out of the kitchen, making sure to kick the wall as he walks away.

Marcus barks in response and Sands snaps.

"Oh shut up. Go and comfort her, you little bastard." He slams the door to his room shut.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He cannot hear anything as he stands in the middle of the room. He has his back on the door and the cigarette is still clinging to his lips. It's almost completely burned out and yet his mood is no less sour. He needs something to occupy his mind with.

Reaching behind him, he takes hold of the gun and pulls it out of the waistband of his slacks. Grabbing the cigarette from his lips, he throws it on the floor, making sure to step on it and not caring if it leaves a stain on the floor or not. He is not going to fucking _see_ it anyway.

Moving swiftly, his right hand reaches for the gun's case. Pulling out the suppressor, he adjusts it to the gun and curls his fingers around it.

_Are you going to use it now?_

_Yep._

_You're not alone._

_Yep._

"Not alone, but fucking angry." He turns towards the direction of the bare wall, "Plus, I am fucking getting rusty." He cocks his head to the side as his finger presses against the trigger.

_You said you wouldn't use it here._

"Shut up." He mutters as he tightens his hold around the gun.

SIG Sauer Mosquito. Its weight is perfect. Not too light, not too heavy. He can fire several rounds of bullets right through that wall with it and if he is lucky one of them will even reach the kitchen and scare the shit out of his new caretaker.

He allows a smirk at that, but it doesn't last long because all of a sudden he is back to the past.

_Disorientation is an awful thing. Especially when you are blind. Especially when your entire body is aching, especially when you can feel your face burning with blazing hot pain. He cannot cool down. He cannot find comfort in sleep no matter how exhausted he is. He cannot breathe, but he can have this small comfort. He can hold onto the cold gun with all his might because this is all he can have; this is all he can feel. His senses are unfocused, everything is blurred, scrambled. Everything is dark and vague. He cannot distinguish past from present. He only knows one thing. That he has no fucking eyes. _

_He can hear voices, he can hear footsteps, but he cannot tell them apart. His blood is pounding in his ears and he can feel his hold on his precious Mosquito turning rather clammy. No, he cannot have that. Especially when there are footsteps approaching. There is sweat tickling his face and he moves a hand to wipe it away only to feel the moist bandage in his way. He snarls and when a voice breaks through the haze he doesn't recognize it. _

"_Señor." _

_He decides to ignore it. Someone has removed his sunglasses and has replaced them with a bandage. Someone has __**seen**__ him like this. For the first time since his awakening, he senses the bed underneath him and he realizes that he has not been awake for that long. _

_A hand on his arm causes him to flinch. He stumbles away from the touch and the action causes intense pain in his skull and legs. He curses and screams and the gun in his hand feels heavier than ever; heavier than the Day of the Dead when he shot those fuckers, heavier than when he killed the bitch for using him like a toy. _

_Ajendrez. He was supposed to be he great puppet master; not her. _

_He is feeling his hold on the weapon slipping and when another pair of footsteps rings in his ears he starts hyperventilating._

"_Señor." _

"_Stay the fuck back!" His fingers tighten their hold on the gun and he raises it higher in front of him._

"_Andres! Vuelve de el!" _

_A woman's voice. It's loud and alarmed and Sands cocks the gun towards her direction. It doesn't sound like __**her**__. But who else can it be? His heartbeat is pounding against his chest and he can feel something sticky and hot running down his cheek._

"_Señor, para. Hay sangre." _

_Blood. She's talking about blood and Sands growls like a caged animal, his knuckles almost white around the gun._

"_Where am I?" he demands and when a hand comes to rest on his leg he lashes out._

"_Señor!" __The small voice again. It rings a bell in Sands' head, but he is too far gone to pay attention. All he knows is that a threat is near. There is a threat and it must be eliminated._

"_Andres!"_

_A pair of small hands encircles his arm and Sands' acts on an instinct. He twists his arm and sends whoever it is on the floor with a loud thud. There is a pained moan and the sound of a shot going off. There is a distinctive crack and Sands allows himself to smirk. It is good to know that at least his fingers work. It feels good to inflict pain when __**you**__ are in pain. The resonating crack of the bullet finding resistance felt good and he starts chuckling darkly. _

_His relief doesn't last long because the gun is suddenly snatched from his limp fingers. He grunts and lurches forward, but he doesn't expect the harsh slap he gets in return. He is so weak that he falls right back down on the bed with a pained gasp. His wounds hurt even more from being jolted like that and his head feels ready to explode; all because of a relatively soft smack. _

"_Bitch." He hisses and when hands push up his sleeve he grasps the thin wrist and starts to squeeze._

_There is a gasp, but the woman manages to restrain him._

"_Despierta." _

_Wake up? He is already awake…Isn't he? He knows where he is…Doesn't he? Barillo…Barillo and his fucked up daughter are right here…Aren't they?_

"_Mama, estoy bien."_

_It's like the slap has turned on a switch and suddenly everything falls into place. There is no Barillo. There is no Ajendrez. It's just the kid and his desperation…It's just the kid and his mother. He gropes around for his gun because he needs it to feel safe, but then he freezes. The gun…He fired the gun and she took it away from him._

_The kid. Did he hurt the kid?_

"_Fuck." He breathes as his brain finally, finally, starts functioning again._

_The hands on him loosen their hold and something sharp pinches the skin of his arm. An injection. The mother has given him something. Before he knows it, he is unconscious again. _

_Heaven._

He tightens his hold around the Mosquito. So what? He didn't hurt the kid, did he? He was fucked up back then.

_And now you're not?_

"I'm rather lucid, you fucker." He mutters.

_Now. But for how long? Until your next dose of painkillers? Do you know that hydrocodone is derived from codeine? Opiate. You will turn into a fucking junkie._

"Nothing I haven't tried before." He mutters out loud smoothly.

His conscience is really, really annoying sometimes. There is no kid in the house and no Lupita. Just the Clumsy Number and the mutt.

_You need them both._

"Do I? See if I care." And with that he pulls the trigger. The first shot causes his lips to twitch upwards at the corners. The second one causes him to snigger. The third one causes Marcus to bark like there is not tomorrow because the huge Lab has excellent hearing despite the suppressor. The fourth one makes his blood pound harder and the fifth one provokes Marcus to scratch at the closed door with his paws. By the seventh one he doesn't care that his bedroom wall looks like a fucking strainer.

There is a knock on the door and Sands cocks his head towards it.

"Si?"

The door opens and there is no gasp or even a reprimand. Just Marcus' heavy footfalls as he heads towards Sands and Lucy's quiet breathing.

"There are holes on the wall." Her voice is a little bit hesitant and Sands scratches his head with the tip of the gun.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to have to pay for that?"

He smirks, "I am surprised here, chica. You just found a man going at it at his own wall with a handgun and all you can say is that?"

Lucy pads towards him and he tenses up. He turns the gun towards her just to _see_ her reaction.

_See?_

She doesn't stop. Instead, she pushes something into the pocket of his shirt.

_The fuck?_

"Cigarettes." She informs him and he lowers the gun out of sheer incredulity, "There is an egg salad and sausages on the table. Water is on the left. _Your_ left. I hope it's sufficient because I have no time. I didn't know I was going to start today." She steps back and Sands wants to wave the gun in front of her face like an activist showing off his fucking placard.

_Hello?_

"Okay." He licks his lips and Marcus finally plops down on the floor with an agitated huff, obviously tired of being ignored.

"Okay, I'm going to take a wild guess and assume that they dropped you when you were a baby. Aren't you scared of choppers, chica?"

"Choppers? Are we back in the thirties?" She sounds amused and Sands doesn't like that. Why isn't she fucking nervous?

'_Cause she's as crazy as you. Or too desperate. She definitely has a kid waiting in a shabby little Mexican room…_

"Answer the question, Ms. Palmer."

There is a pause and he thinks that he can hear her sighing, but then she replies.

"I do not fear guns, Mr. Sands."

He cocks an eyebrow at the mention of his name, but immediately regrets it because it's fucking painful.

_Lupe, I am going to kill you with your own frying pan._

"Oh?"

"I am only afraid of people and what they can do."

Sands taps his chin with the gun, "Uh huh…That doesn't put me in such a good light, does it, chica?"

"It never did."

Sands frowns at her words, "What?"

"Nothing. So, tomorrow?"

He doesn't speak immediately and when he does his tone is guarded.

"Yes."

_Barbie, hurry the fuck up and call. There is something fishy going on here. _

"Eight?"

"Unless you want to find a very pissed _Mr. Sands_ here I suggest that eight is an appropriate hour." His tone is biting, but he can't help it. When she speaks again he strains his ears, paying more attention to her voice.

"I'll be here."

Her tone is neutral, but his ears are trained well by now. There is a tinge of impatience in her voice. Clumsy Number wants to get away from him. Why?

"Make sure that you are." He makes a show of tucking his gun in the waistband of his slacks, but she doesn't linger. With a muttered _adios_, she makes her way out of the room and out the front door. Her flats are squelching against Lupe's clean floor as she walks and when the front door slams closed, Sands turns towards his lounging Lab.

"Well, you have terrible taste in chicks, sport. All the fuss you made this morning was about _that_?" he snorts, "Classic." He carefully makes his way towards his Mosquito case and gently untucks the gun from his slacks. He removes the suppressor and ignores the sound the plaster bits make as he steps on the floor. Shoving the case in a drawer, he places the gun on his nightstand. Turning towards the direction of Marcus, he clears his throat.

"Did she feed you?" He heads towards the kitchen and when the dog doesn't follow, he smirks, "Good."

He finds his usual chair and sits down. There is water on his left, he smirks, plate of…egg salad in front of him, bread to his right and an empty plate right next to it. Frowning, he brushes his fingers over the plate and feels the oily surface. A scowl immediately makes its appearance on his face.

"Fucking dog." The sausages are gone.

"I hope you get diarrhea, you little menace!" He barks and Marcus' answering bark is his only response. Mood soured, he pushes the plate away and pulls the ancient Nokia out of his pocket. He dials and waits. He gets nothing. Barbie is probably locked somewhere with no signal. Ending the line, he pushes the phone on the table and reaches for his new pack of smokes. Lighting one, he leans back in the chair and starts listing every single person he's ever met in his life. The Clumsy Number is most definitely somewhere on that list. He is certain of it.

**End of chapter 3**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! Liked it? Hated it? Please, please, let me know. Reviews feed the muse!**

**Until next time!**

***Translations:**

**Vuelve de el= get back from him**

**Señor, para. Hay sangre= Sir, stop. There is blood.***

**Xxx Lina **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello and welcome back! A huge thank you to: MissMisc3, Makrciana, XantheXV, TinkerbellxO, xBelekinax, dionne dance, Leyshla Gisel and deppfan11. You are all wonderful!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time In Mexico.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

'_**What you lose in blindness is the space around you, the place where you are, and without that you might not exist. You could be nowhere at all.'**_

_**Barbara Kingsolver**_

_Fuck it._

He can hear Marcus' bell and the dog's heavy padding behind him and he grinds his teeth together in irritation. He stops abruptly, choosing to ignore the sound of the radio that is coming from the kitchen. Clumsy Number is listening to some crappy radio show and even though it's not loud enough to be irritating…he is fucking irritated.

_Fuck, where are my fucking pills?_

He storms into the bathroom and as he does so he knocks something over. His nose wrinkles in disgust when he hears the loud splash and he slams a hand hard against the wall just beside the old mirror above the toilet sink.

Marcus barks loudly and has the boldness, and naivety, to step in next to Sands in order to look at the scene better. The moment his tail brushes the agent's calf said agent explodes.

"Goddamn it, mutt!" he thunders and pulls to the side, "Stop harassing me and get the fuck out!"

Marcus gives a loud bark in retaliation and proceeds to throw his two front legs on Sands' abdomen in a manipulating show of affection.

"Marcus!"

The yell is loud and the huge Labrador gets the hint. He retreats and proceeds to walk outside of the bathroom with his tail between his legs.

"Fuck." Sands brushes his foot over the wetness and his lip curls in sheer aggravation. Did he just knock over the fucking toilet brush?

_Ew. Ew, ew. And the fucking thing shouldn't have been there in the first place. It was never there before. Fuck this._

Turning around and ignoring his throbbing temples and eye sockets, he storms towards the direction of the kitchen. The radio host's voice sounds closer and when Sands arrives at the kitchen door he stumbles over Marcus' ass.

"Scram, fatty." He hisses as he proceeds to walk over the dog. Marcus doesn't move an inch and Sands bristles.

"Hey-…"

"He just wants to go out." Lucy informs him as she drops a pot into the sink and looks at him from over her shoulder.

Sands sneers, "Really? Do I seem like I care?"

There is a moment of silence and Sands hates silences. Doesn't the chick ever get upset? Well, she will get upset now alright.

"The bathroom needs cleaning and no; I didn't miss the toilet. Why the fuck was the damn toilet brush sitting right in front of the door?" He can hear her moving around with ease and that fact is setting his teeth on edge. She is unaffected by his tone. He is not impressed in the least.

"It was not in front of the door. I had placed it by the left side of the toilet and I had specifically pointed that out. The bathroom's pretty small and you have the tendency to storm right in."

"Oh yeah?" he grounds out while pushing his shades further up his nose, "When? I am blind, not fucking deaf, chica."

A sigh. It makes him even angrier for some absurd reason. Her response is making him feel like a misbehaving child…or a retarded one. He is neither.

"I told you last night."

He leers, "Last night I was too fucked up to even listen to your annoying little voice."

"Not my problem is it?" she points out softly and Sands' eyes would have widened in disbelief if he had any.

The fuck? When did people get to talk to him like that?

"I can very much make it your problem when I kick you out. Perhaps I should remind you that you haven't even gotten your first paycheck yet."

"I know. It's been after all just three days. But I expect you to listen if this is going to work."

Sands snorts, "Do you _think_ it's working?"

"No." A clipped response.

"Excellent. All that bleach on your hair hasn't completely soaked and burned your brains out just yet then." He smirks when he listens to her pause.

_Atta-boy. Shut her up already._

"Actually, it's natural." Her reply knocks the smirk right off his lips. Okay, the chick is nuts indeed.

"I'll clean it as soon as I am done with dinner." He can hear her resuming her cooking and he stands still, mouth slightly parted, lip curled. He probably looks like a fucking idiot, but he doesn't care.

"And from now on the toilet brush will remain on the left side so one can actually use it by reaching out with their right one. Practicality." She points out and Sands' mouth curves even more into that ridiculous curl.

"I think it's a mistake by the way."

He allows his expression to turn neutral again. His curiosity is peaked alright.

"What is?"

"Your reluctance to let me help you with your eyes."

"Here's the deal, chica," he licks his lips in an effort to remain patient, "I have no fucking eyes-…"

"Cut it out with the cursing, okay? You're badass, I got that. After a while it gets annoying. Do you talk to Andres like that?" She throws a pan in the sink as well and Sands' ears ring with the sound. The ache in his skull intensifies along with his irritation.

"What are you? A _fucking_ infant? I will _fucking_ speak as I like."

"Then I can just as well choose when to listen. Anyway, cuss all you want. Just do it more quietly. I can't concentrate."

"Cooking needs concentration?" he snorts in derision.

"Yep. If you want your pork done right."

He pauses, one eyebrow lifting in surprise. "Pork?"

"I was told you like it." He doesn't appreciate the triumphant tone in her voice. It's like she's expecting him to thank her or something. He won't. He's too pissed to do her any favors. She's a fucking menace!

"In fact, I don't. And you're not getting anywhere near my fucking eyes, _masseuse_." He snaps, throwing her profession at her like an insult, before he turns on his heel and walks out. Marcus barks, but Sands just steps over the large dog and barricades himself in the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He remembers the first time Big Mama had to clean his sockets after an infection. It had been mild, but the fucking area hurt like a bitch. He can remember the severe pain and amount of sweat he had lost when Lupita had first touched him with the antiseptic. It had felt like hot iron needles piercing into his skin. The memory almost makes him gag.

His knuckles are white around the sink and he starts doubting himself. And when he starts doubting himself, he starts doubting his decisions. And when his decisions are doubted that means that he is wrong and he hates that. He fucking loathes it because he has to admit being wrong. Admitting it makes him vulnerable and like other times he cannot go running to Lupita. Sweet, plumb, kind Lupita who doesn't judge. Lupita with the feather light touch; Lupita with her broken English.

_Fuck._ He knows something is off because they hurt too much and they haven't hurt like that for weeks. Sure, alright. He has done a few mistakes like leaving them completely bare or wearing the sunglasses even in his sleep, but hey. He feels like he has to alright? Clumsy Number is in the house and Clumsy Number is not Lupita or the kid. Clumsy Number doesn't know him and he doesn't want her to actually see him. He doesn't give a damn if she can handle it. He is not sure he can.

Grinding his teeth, he presses his forehead against the mirror, feeling the cool glass against his skin. Hs nostrils catch something off…It smells like roses and he turns towards the right. Sniffing loudly, he outstretches his hand and his fingers brush over something wet. It's fresh laundry in a basket.

"The fuck?" he exclaims. She washed his damn clothes with flowery softener? What is it with chicks and their tastes?

Snarling, he shakes his head and tries to focus. He needs that call from Barbie. He absolutely needs to know who is in his house.

_Maybe she is being real. _The annoying little voice again.

_I won't trust her until I know for sure. Barbie fucking owes me for not bitching everything out about our little fucking sessions. I wonder if her husband knows how flexible she is. Damn. Forget that. I can't even get it up with this pain._

Sighing, he listens to Marcus' thudding footsteps and groans.

A knock on the door causes him to tense up.

"What?"

The door opens and there is a pause. What? He's not with his pants around his knees, is he?

"I am taking the dog out and I was wondering if you're done so that I can clean in here first." Her voice is hesitant and he doesn't particularly like the undertone. Is she feeling bad about something? If she does, it means that she pities him and he hates that.

"The painkillers are all gone. Get me some on your way back." He thrusts a hand inside the back pocket of his pants and produces a few bills, "Enough?"

She takes them from his hand and as their fingers brush he can feel short trimmed nails against his knuckles.

"Yeah."

"Swell." When he is sure that she has backed off, he slams the door on her face.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Jesus' mane. Just fucking take them off. You're getting cramps. Besides, you look like a freak with your boxers and sunglasses._

"Shut up. It's fucking hot in here." He runs a hand through his hair as he tries to force bites of food down his throat. He cannot. The drugs are not working…like, at all.

He can hear Lucy moving around him and he is not surprised when she comments.

"I haven't said anything."

"I'm not talking to you." He snaps as he pushes the food, the very much tasty food, away from him.

"Oh…That's alright. We all talk to ourselves."

He ignores her non-judgmental comment, "How long has it been since my dose?"

"Five hours…" Her reply is hesitant and very quiet, "Listen, I-…"

"Yeah, yeah. You can scram." He mutters as he presses a hand on his temple. The simple touch causes his entire head to throb with tension. He wants to bang his useless noggin against the table.

"I was actually trying to offer my services." She tells him and he pauses.

"Cock's not in the mood." He deadpans and she actually, actually, starts laughing.

"I meant your head." She chuckles, but he's not amused.

"No thanks. I won't have you probing me with your little curious hands."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because is not an answer."

"It's the only one you'll get, chica."

"You don't trust me, do you? That is why my every action irritates you."

He bites his tongue hard, "Your job's done. You can see yourself out." He stands and treads carefully towards the door.

"Dog." She calls and Sands; gives her a condescending tight little smile before he stretches his right leg over Marcus' heavy body.

He listens to her footsteps as she follows him and stops abruptly, "What?" he snaps and she clears her throat.

"I won't go until we've taken care of your eyes."

He smirks bitterly, "What have I done to make you care?"

Not even a pause before her next words, "Honestly? Nothing…ever. But Lupita will get mad and that's not good."

Sands fights the urge to reach out and ruin her most certainly perfect hair. He wonders if she's wearing it in pigtails. He would have a blast tugging on them until she realized that her presence is making him feel icky.

_You would have banged her in a heartbeat in the past. Stop mocking her hair._

_I'd bang her in a heartbeat now if my dick wasn't so disorientated from the pain in my skull. Little guy can't catch a fucking break._

The thought brings an ass-wide grin on his lips and he realizes too late that she's still in front of him.

"Lupita isn't here now, is she, muñeca?" He deadpans and there is a sigh.

"You're so difficult. Would it help matters if I said that I don't care about your wounds? We're both adults here."

"No. In fact, I think you just graduated from kindergarten. Congratulations. Night, night."

"You most probably have a mild infection and you need antibiotics. It's better to let me help now and hate me tomorrow."

He pauses and wonders why she is not shutting up. Doesn't she get all the insults he throws her way? Half of them she doesn't deserve, but still. It's entertaining to take his frustration out on someone.

"Who gave you the crystal ball?"

"Just let me help. I have to get home at some point." She is exasperated and he smirks.

"Fine. Come along, muñeca." He calls as he makes his way to the bathroom.

_Let's freak her out. That will be amusing…_

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He plops his ass on the toilet seat and listens to her as she opens the cabinet. A few clanks and he knows she is getting antiseptic, cotton and bandages out. He places his hands on his thighs and allows his fingers to curl around them. The soft fabric of his boxers is grounding under his palms and fingers and he exhales quietly when he hears her moving closer.

"Those boxers ought to be worn only in private dates." She says softly as her hand comes and rests flitting on his shoulder. He tenses up, but covers it up with a crooked smirk.

"It's the one with the red lips on it?"

"Yep."

"Right on the head?" he snickers when she snorts.

"…Yep."

"Do you feel invited?"

Her sharp intake of breath is making him curious. What was that about?

"No."

His smirk drops when her fingers close around the frame of his shades.

He holds his breath when she starts pulling them away slowly. Growling, he smacks her hands away and snatches the glasses off himself.

"Get on with it." He mutters and he hears the cap of the antiseptic moving away from the bottle.

Fingers lightly, almost reluctantly grasp his chin and lift his face upwards. There is a hiss and a muttered curse and his lips twitch.

Clumsy Number is nervous, freaked out and yet she doesn't speak a word. He has to give her credit when she starts pouring the liquid on the cotton. She hasn't run away just yet.

"Well? What is your masseuse's instinct tell you, muñeca?" he asks casually and she let's out an undignified huff.

"Stop calling me _doll_."

"Why? Triggers bad memories?"

"Yeah." Her voice is a bit distant as she proceeds to dab the antiseptic soaked cotton on his sockets and he grits his teeth against the pain. His fingers curl around his boxers and he can literally hear his teeth grinding together from the strain. His sockets are burning and he can feel his head throbbing like there is no tomorrow. He is panting before he can form a coherent thought.

"Fuck!" he wheezes, "Fucking warn me first, chica!" he hisses when she pauses to give him a breather.

"It wouldn't help anyway. It's the start of an infection. Ready?" she doesn't move until he nods his head and grits his teeth again.

This time, he releases a hoarse grunt and Clumsy Number nearly drops the cotton.

He doesn't have the chance to think much about that little reaction because she carries on despite his loud curse.

When she finally moves away, his nostrils are still burning from the pain and the scent of the antiseptic.

She touches his cheek to angle his head and he doesn't know why, but in his painful haze he startles and flinches backwards. His head collides with the tiled wall behind him and he moans lowly.

"Fan-fucking-tastic! Stop touching me without warning." he hisses as he rubs the back of his head.

"Sorry."

"Are you planning to kill me? Shoot me, it'll be quicker." He snaps and for the time being he forgets that he is facing her with nothing but gaping holes on his face. Such a charmer, isn't he? Fuck it, he doesn't really care. Chicks are not interested in your eyes when they have your dick inside them. Most of them are too busy keeping their eyes closed which fucking pisses him off. Not that he plans to…With her…

_Fuck._ His brain is fuzzy.

"Sorry." She repeats the apology and she sounds sincere, but the pain is making him more of an asshole.

"Like I said, all that bleach products have messed with your barely there brain, chica."

"For the last time, it's natural! You need to find different insulting methods. They're getting old and frankly, I don't give a damn about your opinion on hair. Now, I am putting the bandage on. Don't freak out." She warns and he almost smiles, almost. Her anger is helping him forget the drilling pain.

_Drilling? Scratch that. It triggers memories._

"Don't get your panties in a twist." He mutters as she wraps the bandage around his eyes and secures it at the back of his head.

"You know, showing people your face is not the worst thing that you'll ever do. Get over it or no one will." Her voice is soft and holds no real bite in it, but he can't help but feel ruffled because of it. She is talking like…like she knows him, which she doesn't no matter how much her tone of voice is rather familiar in an echoing sort of way.

Fuck, who does she think she is to talk to him like he is a kid?

Ignoring the fact that Marcus just entered the bathroom and is in the process of slobbering all over his hand in an effort to be comforting- the pup obviously heard his grunts of pain- he sneers and reaches for his pack of smokes.

"Trying to psychoanalyze me, chica? Hmmm? Let me guess, it was one of the subjects you failed at in that college program of yours." Yep. Be cruel. Keeps people at a distance and helps you keep your sanity.

"Actually, no." She is obviously putting all the stuff back in the cabinet, "I had to drop out of the program."

"Why? Oh, oh. The bastard kid?" He smirks when she ignores him by washing her hands with tap water, "Oh come on. I'm having fun."

"I'm not." She mutters and Sands is also fed up with the conversation. In fact, he is weary of her voice at the moment. She needs to get lost before he decides to present her with his little Mosquito. Again.

"The antibiotics are on the sink." She murmurs and Sands sharply removes his slick from dog saliva hand out of Marcus' range.

Guh, the pup is the King of Drool.

_Yeah, he's also not a pup. _

_Trifles._

"Well, thanks for tending to my sockets, chica. I had a blast." He stands up from the toilet seat and makes his way to the sink. He finds the box of antibiotics and then makes his way out of the room.

Marcus follows eagerly and Clumsy Number trails behind him as well.

"I'll set the alarm for the next dose, okay?" she calls and he can only nod in response.

"Send the kid for me, won't you?" he calls, "And leave my glasses on the table." He slams his door shut and this time he doesn't lock Marcus out.

He remains silent and plops down on his bed while the Lab joins him as well. He opens his mouth to snap and he has a mind to kick the dog off the bed, but the pain in his head is too much right now. He can even feel the minor swelling around his sockets. Clumsy _Annoying_ Number is right, alright. This is the beginning of an infection. Popping the box of pills open, he grabs two and slips them in his mouth. He knows there must be a bottle of water on his nightstand and so he reaches for it.

At least Clumsy Number is practical and always on time. He has to give her that much.

Swallowing the pills, down he brushes his fingers over the ancient Nokia and groans.

"Come on. Ring."

Dead silence is the only thing that follows.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Are you sure, kid?" he asks with exasperation and Andres hums, "You're one hundred percent certain that this thing's battery is full and not dead?"

"Si, Señor." Andres replies and Sands stretches his hand out. The boy places the cell phone on his palm and he throws it on the bedside table with irritation.

"Fuck."

"Problema?"

"Si." He doesn't expand and the kid sighs.

"You hungry kid?" Sands mutters and the young boy is quick to reply.

"Si."

"There's food in the kitchen. Dig in. How's your mother?" Sands lights a cigarette and already feels a little drowsy from all the pills. Fuck, he could use a nap.

"She's fine…Getting heavier." Andres replies in his broken English and Sands nods distractedly.

"Is that menace alright?" he can't help but ask about Alma.

The kid giggles, "Si."

He has only met the little girl twice, but hell. She's a handful and not in a good way.

"Awesome."

He listens for any sounds of retreat, but the kid is not leaving yet.

"Kid, food."

"Si. I have to…gather the laundry first." Andres informs him and then he is off.

He whistles for Marcus and the big slob scrambles to get off his fat ass in order to follow him. The Lab's heavy padding echoes in the hall and Sands allows his head to drop onto the mattress.

He feels annoyed…and sleepy. Not a good combination. He hates feeling this way. He had never imagined that he would ever live so…secluded. He feels trapped and yet at the same time he feels uncomfortable with anything that can break his every day routine which is…pretty much doing nothing. He is getting rusty in all accounts and there isn't a thing he can do. He cannot see, he cannot practice shooting, he cannot get laid and…Hell, he can't even take care of his own fucking eye sockets. He needs help and he hates it. Those fuckers have ruined him for life. At least he had been able to trust a bit…Now…Nope. He can do that no longer. Because he has no eyes. He cannot see. It's like battling the sea waves with no knowledge of swimming whatsoever, while trying to keep yourself floating by grabbing onto your own hair. There is only one result; drowning and he has no intention of dying just yet.

He takes one last drag from his smoke and then pushes it inside the ashtray. Groaning, he settles down on the bed and listens to Marcus' barking session. He is most certainly running around with the kid, salivating all over him and the kid most surely has no problem to sit back and endure it. Kid's a little saint. Not that he believes in saints. No.

"Better not to slobber all over my clothes, King of Drool." He mutters as he moves a hand to his forehead.

Clumsy Number has done a good job with the bandage. It's not moving, but it's not too tight either. He smirks at that, but he is startled when that ancient Nokia starts ringing. The fucking thing even starts vibrating upon the nightstand and he snorts.

Feeling giddy with curiosity and a little bit of dread, he grabs the phone, but doesn't answer immediately. His smirk deepens after the first ten rings and then he decides he's done waiting.

He answers the call with a very fake groggy voice and there is a moment of a silence.

"Sands?"

He snorts, "Who else, Barbie?" he crosses his ankles and places a hand behind his head, "Took you long enough."

"I had work to do." She doesn't sound worried so that maybe is a good thing. She does sound annoyed though.

His interest is peaked, "How is hubby? Still bored to try the Kama Sutra or has he improved?" He can't help but mention the guy. Sure, he's over six feet, but hey, he is a frigid little codfish. Too uptight for the feisty little Barbie doll.

"Cut the crap, Sheldon." she hisses into the phone, "Are you an idiot or seriously handicapped these days?"

"Hey!" he raises the volume of his tone, the dark hue in it obvious, "Calm the fuck down and explain yourself."

"You have to explain yourself. Are you stupid or has your dick gotten so big that it covers your eyes _and_ ears?" she snaps and he grits his teeth.

"Watch the fucking tone with me, doll face. Just spit it out."

"Spit out what? That the little number you asked me to do a check on is in fact related to your crazy old girlfriend?"

Sands is stunned into silence, "What the fuck are you talking about, Barbara?" he sits up on the bed.

"Are you blind? Her last name is not just Palmer. Her full name is Lucinda Palmer Morris and she is related to Jessica."

Sands' mouth parts in a wide _o_ shape. "The fuck, Barbara? Jessica doesn't have a…Oh." He pauses when realization dawns.

"It's Jessica's little sister. You remember Jessica? She used to follow you around like a puppy when you joined the CIA. She even came to Washington after you had broken up with her. We were working together back then, remember? It was around the same time we had started sleeping together-…"

"We weren't sleeping together. We were fucking. There was no sleep involved." He can't but point that out. Barbara always had a thing for exaggeration.

"Whatever. Her address is the same as yours. In Sacramento, California. That's your parents' house, isn't it? You lived in the same street."

Sands ignores her and simply snorts in disbelief. He has trouble remembering, fully remembering little Lulu.

"Jessica isn't crazy." The words are out of his mouth without his consent and there is a pause from Barbara.

"Yeah, just a junkie."

"Hey-…"

"So, you remember now? Maybe looking at her-…"

"Are you sure it's little Lulu, 'cause-…"

"Little Lulu? Did you have pet names for all the girls you met back then?"

Sands is too stunned, ruffled and irked to snap anything at her right away.

Hell, he doesn't even recall the full face of the girl. Jessica had been pretty older than her sister…Nearly seven years older than little Lulu and all he can remember is the line of freckles that used to cover that teenager's nose back then.

He smirks and an ironic chuckle escapes him. Fuck. No wonder her voice rang a bell…

"Are you still there?"

Oh, right. Barbara.

"Still here, Barbie. Stop screeching in my ear."

"Maybe you need a good slap or two. Seriously, Sheldon, I know Jessica was a bitch back then and she was as clinging as a leech, but I think you ought to remember her and her sister."

"Not your fucking business, Barbie."

"It's my fucking business when you make me take time from my work to look up a person that you already know. Seriously, Sands. Grow up."

All amusement leaves his face at her words, "Did you run a check on Jessica too?"

"Why? Do you miss her? No, I did not. I barely had time for _this_ favor. I simple saw the name and the address and left the file as I found it."

"So, you didn't spot any affiliation with the CIA or the FBI?" He has to ask because if the little Clumsy Number has lied about her orientation and the fact that she fucking _knows_ him, she sure as hell can lie about anything.

"No, it was clean." Barbara's response is clipped, "Is she there? Have you seen her then?"

He reaches for his pack of smokes and then smirks sardonically, "I would if I had any eyes. Fuck off." He ends the call, turns off the phone and throws it on the bed where it falls with a soft thud.

Lighting the cigarette, he runs a hand through his hair, but finds the bandage in his way. The smirk leaves his face abruptly and he tugs the cloth from around his eyes with force. It stings as he does so, but he doesn't give a shit. He throws the bandage away and fists his hand in his hair.

"Fuck." He hisses through gritted teeth as he slips the cigarette between his lips.

So, little Lulu has grown up and wants to play. Fine. He can dig that.

"I wonder if she remembers her first kiss with tongue." He mutters with a sinister little smile before he throws that cigarette on the ground and storms out of the room in search of Andres.

_Little lying bitch doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. Time for her to find out._

**End of chapter 4**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading. Did you see that one coming? I hope not…Now, before you say anything, Lucy was around 15 when Sands knew her and now she is nearly 29. So, she has changed a lot and Sands is blind, so…yeah. Also he is around 36 in my story, in case you're interested.**

**So, liked it? Hated it? Please, let me know. Do you think he'll tell her? Do you think she is there by mere coincidence or not? And who is the person living with her? Hmm?**

**Comments are loved.**

**Also, I have posted a new story in the Libertine section. Check it out if you're interested. ;o)**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: A huge thank you to all my reviewers! Sorry for the delay!**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time In Mexico.**

**Chapter 5**

"_**You know, you've never really cared about anyone," he said. "But someday you will, and it's going to hurt. It's going to hurt a lot."  
— L.J. Smith, Secret Vampire **_

_Are you sure this is the way you want to play this?_

He allows the question to settle into his mind as Lucy Clumsy Number works on his eye sockets.

Her movements are soft, measured, languid; controlled. He is surprised at how at ease she really is. He was never nice to her; never. In fact, he had been horrible, leading her on by using her naivety to his advantage, deceiving her with nice little smirks and winks while banging her sister in the next room. Oh, he remembered her room. It had been all pink with stuffed animals scattered about. Her comforter had been a deep fuchsia colour that burned his eyeballs every time he had ventured into her childish little room.

He nearly smirks because the more he tries, the more he remembers.

He is startled by her a moment later, but the water feels cool on his cheeks when she bathes his face with a soaked towel. Funny, he usually hates to be touched there.

_Yep. _He finally answers the question and he is satisfied with his decision.

_Why? Tell me the fuck why._

He nearly snorts.

_Highly beneficial, my twisted alter ego._

_You're not getting a confession from her any time soon…Just do it the old classic way._

_The one that will have her running for the borders? No._

_Why?_

He nearly sighs and ignores that his silent conversations with his inner voice start getting more intense.

_Because then I'll have no one to boss around. This is not vacation, you know. I have to depend on these people._

_If you shoot them you won't have to be nice._

_But I'd still be dependent on someone…_

He clears his throat and no matter how tempting getting rid of all of them actually sounds…he cannot do that.

_Invested much? Fucker._

_Thanks._

_You do know she screwed you up by lying to you._

_All in good time, my demented little friend._

_I am not your friend._

_Oh yeah, you're a tool I employ when things get sticky for little Sheldon. Now fuck off._

"Tell me if this hurts."

_What? Oh, right. _

He grits his teeth as the liquid makes contact with the healing skin and sputters out a curse.

"Sorry."

"Are you really?" he mutters and Lucy pauses.

"Sorry?" she sounds genuinely surprised.

"Nothing."

There is another stretch of silence and then he can feel the bandage going over his sockets.

"So, how was it?" He cocks an eyebrow to make his question even more emphatic and Lucy frowns.

"What?"

"Florida? How was it for you?" He makes the question casual and he is usually good at that.

"Cooler than Mexico."

"Are you sure?"

"Well…yeah. Air conditioning and all."

Sands smirks a little, "So, what did you leave behind?"

"Nothing." The reply is short and clipped. Does she really think that she can win this?

He inwardly snorts.

"Are you sure?"

"You're rather talkative today." She notes and he grins.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Do you not like it?"

"It makes me suspicious."

Bingo.

"Oh, I am sorry, chica…" He pouts for effect as she secures the bandage and drops her hands from his head, "Do you happen to have something that can make me suspicious of you? 'Cause if you are suspicious now, then you are suspicious that I am suspicious about something I shouldn't be suspicious about." He finishes his speech and takes a drag from the cigarette that is tangled between his fingers.

Lucy sighs, "You lost me."

"To cut it short, you have something than can be used against you?"

"It depends on the perspective."

"Ah." He raises a hand and sits forward as she washes her hands in the sink, "Tell me then…Which perspective? Yours or mine?"

Dead silence follows and he strains his ear to listen for any change in her breathing. Nothing. She is moving around slowly like always. Seriously, the woman is like a snail.

"Are you gonna answer that, chica?"

"Listen, if you have something to say just say it." He listens as she slaps her hands on the sink and smirks.

"Why? You don't like games? I thought you did." His cheeks hollow with the loud obnoxious drag he takes and Lucy snorts.

"You think I like games? You know nothing about me; nothing. So, unless this isn't a way for you to get amusement, then I'll be on my way." She drops the towel on his lap and he smirks as she storms out of the bathroom.

Jeez. The chick can't take a hint…or maybe she can and she chooses to ignore his snide little comments. The question is one; why? Why doesn't she lash out? Why doesn't she call him out on his little cat and mouse game? And if she is suspicious, why isn't she running? He knows, no. He is certain, that she remembers him, that she knows how he was; _who_ he was. He hasn't changed much. Not really.

_Yeah, only back then you weren't wielding guns around like packs of smokes._

_Detail, mate. Detail._

Hearing her footsteps approaching the door, he scrambles to stand up from the toilet seat. Keeping the cigarette between his lips, he leans against the doorframe as she makes her way down the hall.

His foot connects with Marcus' round backside and he scowls a little. The sound of her keys jingle and he drops the scowl, replacing it with a full blown grin.

"Don't forget to get me my smokes tomorrow!" he calls.

"I won't. I never do." Her response is mechanical and oddly detached.

"Kay…Oh and careful not to hit any more pedestrians with that killer elbow, chica!"

"Go to hell, Sands."

He hisses and rubs his chest as she unlocks the door, "Ouch. That hurt."

"Good. Night, puppy." She calls and Marcus' heavy tail slaps the floor as he wiggles it in response to her words.

Sands smirks, "Goodnight, pumpkin!"

The slam of the door causes him to grin widely, "She loves me. She always has."

Marcus barks and the grin falls off Sands' face like a mask, "Oh shut up, mutt. Traitor." He mutters as he makes his way to his room.

Marcus follows him eagerly, but before he can enter the bedroom, Sands slams the door on the dog's face. Proceeding to ignore the Lab's paw-scratching on the door, he shrugs out of his shirt and takes out the cigarette.

"Sorry." He calls when Marcus starts barking like there is no tomorrow. "No traitors allowed inside estate grounds." He plops onto the bed and pushes his arm behind his head, forcing himself to go to sleep.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"What do you mean you can't?" Sands is bristling.

_Where's my fucking gun?_

"I cannot, senor." Andres is fidgeting nervously where he stands, his little hands making signals that Sands of course cannot see.

"Why can't you?"

Andres clears his throat, "Mama, asked me not to."

"Really? Your mother told you not to tell me about the chick."

"Si, senor."

Sands cranes his neck, forcing himself to remain calm. "Why the fuck not?"

"Mama says that…um, secrets are not secrets when you tell them."

Sands wants to bang his head against the wall. "Listen, kid, I pay, you speak. Now, what is going on with her?"

"Senorita Lucy?"

"Yes."

_Fuck, kid. Don't make me mad. Not today._

"Mama says it's no one's business."

"You tell your mother that I accepted this little alteration because I trusted her. Now, if she goes around hiding things from me, I may become less pleased with her."

"But, senor, I cannot say."

Sands stands up from his seat and starts pacing.

"Fine. What if I guess right? Will you tell me then?" At the moment he doesn't even know why he's bothering. He should just go to Clumsy Number's house and see-snort- for himself. Maybe fire a few bullets through her walls and doors for good measure too.

"Tell you what, senor?" Andres is a smooth little player and Sands actually chuckles.

"Who is with her in the house, kid?"

The kid pauses, mulling over it until he consents.

"Peachy." He grins and resumes his seat, leaning forward, "Now, you've been there…Is it a woman?"

"Woman?"

He groans, "Si, a woman. Is it a woman living with Lucy?"

A pause. "Si."

_Bingo._ "Right. Who is this woman?"

"Senor, you have to guess. Rules, remember?"

_Until I wring your little neck, kid._

"Fine. Brunette?"

"Brunette?"

"Fucking hell, kid! Get a thesaurus!"

Andres flinches and Sands takes a deep calming breath, "Dark, brown hair?"

"Not really."

Sands pauses, "Blonde?"

"Si."

"Tall?"

"No."

_The fuck? _Is she living with a dwarf? Jessica's tall.

"Short then?"

"Si."

He brushes his lower lip with his thumb. "She's speaking English?"

"Not really." Andres sounds odd as he speaks. He is also shifting every once in a while. He sounds impatient to leave.

Sands is as confused as hell. No English? A woman? If it's not Jessica then…Has Lucy become a lesbian? He grins lopsidedly at that thought. That'd be interesting. Very interesting indeed.

He inhales deeply and then, "Kid, you do know that I hate to be played for a fool, right?"

He can actually see the kid biting his lip at the question.

_Oh yeah. Aim for the kid's goodness, will ya?_

"Si, senor."

"Good. Then you also know that lying to me won't help you much, don't you?"

"Senor, I am afraid of Mama more than I am afraid of you right now."

The answer makes Sands freeze. He shakes his head and as if on queue Marcus storms into the kitchen, his heavy paws thudding on the floor.

Pulling out a cigarette, Sands remains silent as the kid starts fawning over the large Lab, completely ignoring him.

"Kid."

Andres laughs and Sands grits his teeth. "Kid!"

The boy pauses, "Si?"

_Fuck off. Just __**fuck off.**__ Take your fat dog and get out of my house…Now._

Taking a deep calming breath he smiles a cold smile. "I will ignore what you just said, kid."

"But-…"

"I said, I will ignore it because lately I can tolerate you more. Now, I wanna see your mother. Asap. Savvy?"

"A…s…a…p?

"As soon as possible, kid. Seriously." He takes drag and waves his hand, "I thought all those lessons would have paid off by now…"

"Sorry, senor."

If he had eyes he would have rolled them at the sincere emotion in the kid's voice.

Sudden ringing interrupts them and Sands sits up in his seat.

"What is that?" The vibration that accompanies the sound rings a bell.

_Holy cow_. It is the ancient cell phone.

"Phone, senor."

The kid is already running to get the phone as Sands frowns.

"Yeah, yeah, kid. Got that." A pause, "Don't pick up! Just tell me the number."

Andres returns and does as he is told. Sands snickers as soon as the kid speaks the first two numbers.

"What a surprise." He mutters as he outstretches his hand, palm up, "Hand it over."

The phone is placed in his hand, but Andres lingers, "Scram, kid. Go and take the dog out for a ride. Also, inform your mother that I want to see her."

Andres hesitates, but at Sands' pursed lips he does as he is told.

As the boy walks away, Sands clears his throat, runs his tongue over his teeth and picks up the call.

"Si?"

A pause. Only quiet breathing is heard and he leans back in his seat, parting his legs and gently tapping his hand against his thigh as he waits.

"I can do this all day, but I doubt you can." He drawls confidently and there is a barely audible sigh from the other end.

"Is it true?"

Sands cocks both his eyebrows at the question, "I am sorry, I don't speak the Barbie dialect."

A huff. "Stop being an asshole, Sheldon."

"Hey, you stopped having the right to call me that since that little stunt you played at the headquarters."

"You think I am the one who ruined your precious reputation? Wake up, Sands. You had no reputation. They just wanted to get rid of your stupid attitude."

He winces, "Ouch. That hurt."

"Just answer the question."

"I didn't understand it. Sorry." He licks his lips, "Hanging up on you didn't do the trick, Barbie?"

She swallows so hard that it's audible through the phone. "Last time you said something that…If it was a joke-…"

"You'll what? Pound at me with your Barbie helicopter?" he scoffs and there is a pause.

"No, but I will tell the CIA that you called and they will trace this call, and they _will_ find you and haul your ass back to the States."

Sands tenses up, "Are you threatening me?" he murmurs darkly as his fingers tighten around the Nokia.

"I must be cruel only to be kind." She responds haughtily and Sands is severely reminded of the reason why he had stopped seeing her. Barbara Abbot is a leech.

"Really?" He stands up abruptly and doesn't care when his hip is slammed into the corner of the wooden table, "What kindness can you do me? Offer a pity fuck or maybe a new pair of eyes. Hmm?"

He listens to the silence and smirks. "Well, look at that. Finally speechless. I always wanted the privilege of being able to insert a metaphorical foot inside your pretty mouth."

"Shut up, Sands!" she hisses and there is the sound of a chair being pushed back, "Are you for real?"

"Yeah."

"And you're so casual about it?"

"Last time I checked, I was the one abandoned in a place as shitty as Mexico, sweetheart. Stop with the theatrics. You're merely curious why I didn't contact you earlier. You are _terribly_ curious."

He leans against the table as he continues his verbal attack. "Well, I got news for you, Barbie. You're not the only woman willing to fuck me."

"I did not call so that you can treat me like you used to!" she snaps and the corners of his mouth curl up in a sneer.

"Oh? Then why did you call?"

"I was worried. First you tell me that you have no damn eyes and then you hang up on me! What's your deal?"

"Well, my deal definitely doesn't involve you, sugar."

"It does when you call asking for favours that can put me in trouble." Barbara's voice is shrill and the volume of it betrays her displeasure, but Sands never deals with hysterical women. His tolerance level reaches only a nice huge zero.

"You can and have done worse than a simple check up, Barbie. Stop with all the bullshit."

A sigh. "Just tell me what you're going to do."

"None of your business."

"Sands."

"I said, it's not any of your fucking business. I knew that little favour would come to bite me in the ass." He pushes the chair with his foot out of sheer exasperation before he snorts, "What's your deal? Why did you call?" he pauses and then sneers. "Are they already on me? Are they tracing this call?"

"No-…"

"Answer me, Barbara!"

"God's sake! I said no!"

"So, you just called to check up on me? As what?"

"You know what? Forget it. I forgot what a jerk you are."

"It's a good thing I never fail to remind you."

"Go to hell."

She hangs up with a muffled curse and an odd little noise that sounds ridiculously close to a dry sob, but Sands doesn't care. He throws the phone away, not caring that it lands right inside the sink, and runs his fingers through his hair. Fisting at a few strands, he groans and grits his teeth.

Bringing Barbara into this has come back to bite him; painfully so. He doesn't need her care or worry. He has never asked a favour before; never. Mostly because he knows that he hates owing things to people. Owing stuff always leads to trouble. That's why he prefers business transactions. Dough is always reliable. Dough makes people do things right because of the repercussions that might happen if they do not do as they're told. That's why he doesn't have friends. Friends are a liability, a weakness. No one is more loyal than a person who can be bought for cash; no one.

Pushing away from the table, he makes his way to the bathroom. His head is pounding. It's time for his painkillers.

He slams the door and it actually feels good.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Two days later…_

"Lucy. You hear? _Lucy_. Clumsy Number, Lulu, whatever. Got it?" He is leaning down, speaking directly in front of Marcus' face. The huge white Lab bumps his muzzle against Sands' chin, earning a disgusted expression from him before he lets out a bark.

"Was that a yes? Can I trust you to lead me to her or will I end up in Timbuktu?" He drawls as he wipes his chin with the back of his sleeve.

Marcus barks again and jumps up, resting his two front legs on Sands' jean clad knees.

"Fine, you big lump. Wait here. Need to put my effects on."

He makes his way towards the small living room and reaches for the hat the kid took out for him before he left last night. It's an hour before eight. That means that he probably has enough time to make his surprise appearance before Lucy leaves her house.

Sticking the ridiculous banana coloured hat on top of his head, he reaches for the largest pair of shades he owns. Slipping them on, he smirks and squares his shoulders.

"Told ya that I always get what I want Big Mama. You go against me, you pay…" he mutters as he makes his way back to the dog.

He grabs the leash and Marcus barks joyfully. Sands scowls down at the pet.

"Seriously, mutt? Happy that you're going out with me?"

Marcus barks again and the agent pauses, "Listen here, Drool King." He mutters as he leans down, "If you lead me to any walls, or ledges or whatever, I will make sure you don't bark again. Got it?"

Marcus makes an odd noise and bumps his rump against Sands' thigh. Sands growls and adjusts the glasses further up his nose.

"Fuck it. Show's on."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Come on. Take it out. You wanna scare her, don't you?_

_I don't want to scare her per say…Just catch her off guard. I always had fun catching her off guard. I was also amused by annoying her._

Oh yes, he was. Especially when he realized that little Lulu had a tiny little crush on him.

_Little? The girl wouldn't look elsewhere while you were around._

He allows a smirk to spread on his lips as Marcus leads him into a porch. There are flowers around. He can smell them. Big Mama and Lulu must have joined forces in that department. He curls his lip at the thought and absentmindedly brushes a hand over the gun tucked in his belt.

_Take it out. Come on! Have some fun._

_Shut up. _

Marcus barks and Sands turns his head towards the dog. "You sure?"

Another bark. "If you have led me into a fucking tequila joint, I will…" he trails off because he can hear moving around from the other side of the door. He can also hear someone talking.

He presses his ear against the door as Marcus makes himself comfortable on the front step. He lets go of the leash and leans closer.

It's Clumsy Number talking.

"The fuck?" He mutters when he hears her cooing in a ridiculously sweet voice. The damn door is thick so he can't actually hear what she's saying, but still.

He curls his lip and pulls his head away from the door just as footsteps approach.

"Shit." He curses and acts quickly. He knocks on the door. Loudly.

There is a pause and then more footsteps. He leans against the wall next to the door and waits.

Lucy finally opens the door and her quiet gasp is the only audible sound.

"What are you doing here?"

His eyebrows go up. "Not going to invite me in? It's coffee time." He smirks and Lucy's breath hitches.

"Leave. I'll be over in half an hour-…"

"Hold it right there, chica." He leans forward and the smell of baby powder burns his nostrils. He ignores it.

"I was told I need to resume my workout. So, here I am. I took the King out for a stroll. Ain't I nice?" He places a hand on the doorframe. "Now how about that coffee?" He pushes her to the side and storms right in. Big mistake. His foot stumbles over something and he falls, face first on the floor.

He curses and catches himself in time on his hands and knees.

"What the fuck?"

Lucy makes a shushing sound and thinking it's for him, he sneers.

"And they call me untidy!"

"I'm sorry…"

"What's this?" He grabs the object that caused his fall and shakes it. It's not too heavy…It feels like a toy…A dog? A lion perhaps? Jeez, he's no expert, but it must be a toy.

"Well, well, chica. Keeping secrets from me? Holding back information?" He places the toy on the ground and rolls it over the floor. He smirks.

"I knew you liked games, but this…" He snorts derisively, "Grow up, sugar. There are other toys your age can use…"

"Stop talking and get up." She mutters as she closes the door. Something heavy hits the ground and Sands frowns.

"What an attitude. It wouldn't seem like I pay for your toys." He brushes his hands against his jeans and pushes the toy away with his foot.

"Hey!" Her tone is sharp and he is surprised.

"It's just a toy." He raises his voice and Lucy huffs, murmuring softly, "What was that?"

"Keep your damn voice down!" she finally snaps and Sands pauses.

"Worried I'll wake up your guest…_little Lulu_?" He grins as he takes a few steps closer.

Lucy gasps and there is complete silence as Sands comes to loom over her. He listens as she takes a step back.

"I do hope you've learned to kiss better since the last time I saw you, chica. That attempt still haunts me…" He snickers, but he is surprised when she doesn't respond.

Scowling, he lashes out with his hand in an attempt to shake her, but his palm brushes against something soft, relatively small and round.

He jumps back as a soft baby cry breaks the silence and Lucy is immediately on comfort mode, shushing and cooing and rocking and Sands is…Sands is speechless.

"The fuck, chica?" he whispers, "Is that a kid?"

Lucy sounds to be struggling with the words, but finally she speaks; loud and clear.

"Yes. It's a baby." She sounds resigned.

Sands knocks his hat from his head and runs a hand through the dark strands.

"Spill."

'No. It's none of your business!"

"The fuck it isn't! I have you in my house!"

"This baby is not your concern-…"

"Cut the crap, Lulu!"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why? Are you going to attack me with bubble gum? Or is Jessica here? Maybe she can come and punch me. If she's not too stoned to do so-…"

"Jessica's dead, Sands. She can punch no one, let alone this kid." Lucy cuts him off in a strong voice and he goes absolutely still.

_Fuck. Fuck it. Fuck._

"And you better keep your voice down." She mutters as the baby hiccups.

Sands is pushed out of the way and he allows it to happen without speaking. He is too stunned for anything else.

_Jessica has a kid…No, she had a kid. She's dead. Jessica's dead…_

Now there is only one question. How old is the kid and is there a possibility that it's his? _Fuck…_When did he see Jessica for the last time? He can't remember. He only knows that whatever rendezvous they had could not have ended without him shagging her brains out.

"Shit."

**End of chapter 5**

**Author's note: Still here? Good. Thank you for reading!**

**Now, do you think that there's any possibility that the baby is Sands'? I am curious to know your thoughts. Just don't go for the obvious answer…You might be wrong…**

**Also, I have also created a FictionPad account due to the latest madness. I will put a link on my profile. Only my ST story, Chains is there so far. I will add more soon. Also, I plan on putting my Libertine fics on too.**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina**


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